


Winter Wonderland

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Fluff, Snow, Snow Day, Snowball Fight, Winter, snowy silly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke experience their first snow day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Words cannot express how excited I am for the snow. (I know it's a serious storm, but honestly winter is my fave and I really fucking love the snow, so let me have this please.)

The cold is the first thing Clarke registers when she wakes. It’s not a new sensation anymore, not after the two long months of dropping temperatures and constantly chattering teeth. But it still manages to shock her system in the first moment she’s roused from sleep, before she remembers that this is just how things are on Earth.

This is winter.

But this morning, there’s something besides the cold that prevents her eyes from drifting shut once more. She lies under her blanket and waits for it again.

There comes a shriek, followed by another faint scream. Clarke’s fingers are already wrapping around her gun as she flies off the cot to rush outside.

The cold is sharp and biting, but that’s not what makes her halt in surprise.

Her world is covered in white.

Tiny wet flakes fall from the sky, swirling languidly with the wind in an endless shower. They end up everywhere - on her eyelashes, her coat, the tip of her tongue as her mouth opens in surprise. Clarke stands in astonishment, staring around her. Bare tree branches sag with the weight of the snow that covers them. The same snow crunches underfoot, so soft that her boots leave a clear print, and yet packed together hard enough to make another layer over the grass. 

The few trees that haven’t lost their branches ( _evergreens,_ she remembers) are covered in snow. Unlike the other trees, they don’t sag or groan under the weight. They are breathtaking in their beauty, as if the snow is the accessory they’ve been waiting for all along. 

Another shout rings out, and Clarke looks over to see her friends running around camp, dodging and weaving between tables as they chase each other with uncontained glee. Octavia is laughing brightly as she ducks away from Jasper and hides behind a hut with Monty. Seconds later, they’ve teamed up to pelt the other boy with snow. 

Monroe has already clambered up into one of the trees, perching on a branch to direct her snowballs at the boys below. Clarke almost wants to tell her to be careful, but she stifles it at the last second. Monroe’s accuracy is remarkable, and Clarke grins as she hears yelp after yelp as the snow finds its target. 

Raven’s there, too, a rare smile on her face as she lingers to the side and observes. She’s distracted enough that she doesn’t see Wick slowly sneak up behind her. Her shriek of surprise cuts through the air as he sweeps her up into his arms and tosses her into a snow drift. Moments later, he throws himself on top of her to plant a long kiss on her lips.

Clarke laughs happily at the sight of it all. Her friends deserve every second, every moment of this day. It’s been far too long since they’ve been able to act and feel like kids again. Even if it’s temporary, Clarke wants to make it last as long as possible.

She wipes at a sudden tear in her eye and turns to toss her gun back inside the tent when something wet and freezing hits her butt.

She yelps in surprise and whirls around as the cold seeps into her skin. Bellamy stands a few feet away, white flakes peppered through his dark hair. His grin is bright and cocky, something she doesn’t see nearly enough these days. It makes her heart race frantically.

“You gonna come and play, princess?” He calls.

Clarke’s jaw drops open once more, though a smile lurks at the corners of her mouth. Her instincts kick in just as a second snowball comes flying her way. 

She ducks. 

Her hands touch the snow in wonder, and now she doesn’t bother to fight her grin.

She looks up, and Bellamy’s gaze softens slightly as he sees her awe. Then her hands begin packing the snow into a ball and he takes a step back. 

Clarke smirks. “You are _so_ dead!” 

His eyes glitter and he takes off, Clarke hot on his heels. She chases him around the camp, her breath misting in front of her as she alternately laughs and gulps in air. They wind around several very startled adults, for once too busy to argue as they fly by. Taking careful aim, Clarke lets go of the first snowball once they round a sharp corner. It's a little off-target but still manages to catch Bellamy's shoulder. He turns abruptly, his own snowball ready to fly, and she dives to the left just in time. He grins and follows, and suddenly he’s chasing her. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Clarke runs faster.

She leads them away from the main section of camp and into the construction zone that is slowly becoming an extension of the compound. A large portion is still unfinished, littered with various beams and pieces of wood and half-built reinforcements, and Jasper's voice sounds in her head. _This would make a a great place to play._

She agrees.

A snowball pelts her arm, the wetness drenching her coat instantly, but Clarke keeps going. Bellamy’s low chuckle sounds behind her as they reach the first of the construction projects. She swings through, crouching behind a large board as she gathers extra snow. Peeking over the top, she sees Bellamy’s tall form duck down by a crate. Letting the snowball fly, she’s rewarded by his grunt of surprise.

“Cheap shot,” he calls.

“I learned from the best,” she responds, already moving to a new spot. His snowball lands where she’d been moments before, and she giggles.

"Thought you'd hate the snow, princess." 

Clarke considers as she packs a new snowball. "I could do without the freezing temperatures. And all the hypothermia that's bound to follow these escapades." 

"Escapades?" His low laugh echoes in the air.

"Well, what would you call them?"

She yelps as a snowball comes flying at her head. Barely managing to duck in time, she ends up with a face full of snow anyways.

"I call it _fun_ ," Bellamy grins and takes off again. 

Clarke gets to her feet in mock outrage and follows immediately. They continue to toss snowballs back and forth, trading barbs as they move throughout the half-built camp. It becomes their own little game, part hide-and-seek and part target practice. Bellamy’s snowballs zip through the air without mercy, landing with a resounding splat anywhere they touch. His aim is accurate as ever, and she’s soon soaked through her layers. 

She doesn’t really care.

Her aim improves with time, and a little strategy on her part. But it doesn’t help that Bellamy is utterly distracting in his happiness. His eyes are bright and merry in the quick moments they find hers. That, combined with his charming grin, leaves her unfairly breathless. Lately it’s been rare that he smiles in that wide, unguarded manner that reaches his eyes.

(It’s a secret mission of hers to pull at least one from him per day.)

But right now there’s no shortage of grins and laughter as they play like children. It’s freeing and silly and so, so fun. 

As she hurries to another corner, her foot slips on an unseen patch of ice. Clarke wobbles with a surprised shout and lands hard on her back. For a moment, the breath is knocked from her lungs. But even that doesn’t last long, and she begins to giggle. Bellamy appears in a second, dark curls hanging over his eyes as he leans over.

“Ice,” she says wonderingly, and he nods. 

Clarke lies there watching her breath mist in the air. Bellamy’s amusement softens into something else - something kind and gentle that she can’t put her finger on. It’s a familiar occurrence as of late, though her usual reaction is to ignore the spark it sends through her belly or the warm feeling that spreads all the way to her toes. 

But today, she lets it fill her up. It might be the adrenaline; it might be the snow. She doesn’t care. 

She just doesn’t want it to end.

Bellamy reaches an arm out to help her up, and Clarke puts her hand in his. But it’s not to pull herself up. She gives a hard yank, laughing as he’s thrown off balance and lands next to her in the snow. He groans loudly.

“Damn, princess. You play dirty.” But Bellamy can’t keep the smile from his face for long.

They lie watching the snowflakes swirl through the air. When they land on her eyelashes, she blinks and turns her head. Bellamy’s eyes are closed, his mouth still curved upwards in a hint of that lopsided smile that she's come to know and love. His chest rises and falls with quiet breaths. He looks so peaceful, so free of worry that Clarke wants to trap the look in a sketch. For a moment, he’s just a boy again. She wishes she could bottle up this feeling just to revisit it whenever she wants. 

Then his eyes open, finding hers. 

“Hi,” she whispers. 

“Hey you.” His smile unfurls slowly, warm and tender. 

Clarke leans closer.

Something creaks above them, and they turn to see a half-built shelf groaning under the weight of the snow. Splinters run wildly through the slab of wood, the cracks widening by the moment. Bellamy scrambles up first, pulling Clarke to her feet. They back away slowly, taking the long way around the structure.

He sighs, and the lines have returned to his face. “Well, add that to the list of things I didn’t see coming.”

“I bet that’s a long list,” Clarke laughs. “What’s number one?”

Bellamy blinks slowly, snowflakes clinging to his dark lashes. His smile is hot chocolate and s’mores by the fire.

“You,” he says simply.

Clarke stares at him. Her cheeks warm despite the cold, and the shiver that runs up her back has nothing to do with the snow. She licks her lips self-consciously, noting how his gaze follows the motion. His eyes are a shade darker than usual. Until this moment, she hadn't even known that was possible.

She steps closer - and slips on another hidden patch of ice.

Trying to keep her balance, she grabs the thing nearest her: Bellamy. He does his best to keep them upright, but her flailing body doesn’t help matters. They land in a heap on the snow, and he grunts heavily.

“I’m sorry,” her apology is muffled against his coat. “I guess you can add ice to your list.”

Bellamy’s chest rumbles with a laugh. Clarke grins. If she’s being honest with herself, she’s quite comfortable in her current position atop him. His arms are still wrapped around her and they’re crushed together in all the right places. Her cheek rests against the hollow of his neck, the only part of him that’s not covered. He’s impossibly warm there. Clarke wonders if she’s imagining the pulse hammering under her ears.

Neither of them move for a long moment. Faintly, Clarke begins to register the cold, wet snow that has soaked her clothes to the bone. On cue, a shiver wracks Bellamy’s frame.

“What do they call dying of intense cold?” 

“Hypothermia.”

“That’s it. That’s how I’m gonna go,” he moans.

She slaps his arm lightly. “Stop being such a baby. I’ll take care of you,” she grins up at him and his eyebrows lift.

“You got a secret way to warm up someone in 60 seconds, because I swear princess-”

Bellamy cuts off with a strangled gasp as she presses her lips to his neck. His fingers dig into her waist, somehow finding a sliver of skin between all the layers, and now it’s her turn to stutter out a breath. She slides her hands inside his jacket.

“You seem warm to me,” she murmurs. 

“Clarke…”

His soft plea, combined with the patterns he’s now tracing on her skin, have her craving more. Clarke trails her mouth up his neck, nibbling along the sharp angle of his jaw until he twists his head and tangles a hand in her hair.

Their lips slide together, hesitant and more careful than she ever expected either of them to be. But when Bellamy sighs and sweeps his tongue against her mouth in question, she answers immediately. His lips are soft and insistent and daring - Clarke doesn’t even understand how a kiss can be _daring_ , but of course Bellamy’s found a way to make it so. 

When they finally break apart, she’s flushed and he’s dazed, and god she’s stupidly proud to be the reason why. She wants to do it again. 

“Still cold?” Clarke kisses the corner of his mouth.

Bellamy’s hand inches higher up her back, drawing a ragged breath out of her. “If that’s how you plan to warm me up, princess,” he grins devilishly, “I think I’m going to be freezing year-round.”


End file.
